Journey’s Endhttp://www.journeysendbooks.com
Death, Dying, and the End of LifeWed, 26 Sep 2018 23:17:10 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.9.9Our Paper Anniversaryhttp://www.journeysendbooks.com/our-paper-anniversary/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/our-paper-anniversary/#respondWed, 26 Sep 2018 23:13:46 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=175Saturday was our wedding anniversary. One year since we were married. One year since that wonderful day, a day that was almost perfect in every way.

After twelve years, living as husband and wife, we wanted to make it official. We chose to experience the joys of saying “I do,” of toasting each other and consecrating ourselves to each other in front of witnesses. With only 48 hours of pre-planning, our family made this special ceremony possible; and afterwards they dined and danced with us to celebrate our new life together as a formally wedded couple. The occasion was so very joyful.

So what could be less than perfect about that special day? The only invited guests were our very immediate family, but one other presence loomed “larger than life” at our wedding, a real party crasher: Stage IV cancer of your pancreas.

Pancreatic cancer is a covertly treacherous entity. By the time it was discovered, it had done irreparable harm and set you on a time-limiting course. It sank its fangs into your body’s core and gradually sucked your life away.

Cancer was the reason our life together took a new course and the reason we said our last farewell six months ago. Cancer is the reason you weren’t here to celebrate with me on Saturday and the reason I miss you every day.

I learned some important lessons from this path we travelled with cancer:

Even the strongest love may not sustain human life when it is time to go. Humans die. Life ends. We can make the most of life while we have it. One day, like it or not, life will literally be gone in a heartbeat.

Humor helps us cope, even in death. Yes, I did ask about taxidermy as the funeral home attendants took your body away. I knew you’d think that was funny. And I wasn’t really looking for a laugh (although a giggle from you would have really been great at that point). What I wanted was to keep you with me, always. Just by the way, they don’t do taxidermy and I’m the only one who had ever asked.

Love lives on. It’s called Grief.

Yes, I am deeply grieving. You were my Sweet Prince, my beloved partner and best friend. Perhaps it’s odd, but I am thankful for the grief. I consider grief a healthy experience. I want to grieve and grieve and grieve some more, all ways and always. Why? Because grief is the shape our love takes now. It started to assume that form the moment pancreatic cancer took its unwelcome place in our lives.

So, whenever I say, “Love lives on,” I acknowledge the lasting power of grief.

What if you knew you’d be the last
to touch someone?
If you were taking tickets, for example,
at the theater, tearing them,
giving back the ragged stubs,
you might take care to touch that palm,
brush your fingertips
along the life line’s crease.

When a man pulls his wheeled suitcase
too slowly through the airport, when
the car in front of me doesn’t signal,
when the clerk at the pharmacy
won’t say Thank you, I don’t remember
they’re going to die.

A friend told me she’d been with her aunt.
They’d just had lunch and the waiter,
a young gay man with plum black eyes,
joked as he served the coffee, kissed
her aunt’s powdered cheek when they left.
Then they walked half a block and her aunt
dropped dead on the sidewalk.

How close does the dragon’s spume
have to come? How wide does the crack
in heaven have to split?
What would people look like
if we could see them as they are,
soaked in honey, stung and swollen,
reckless, pinned against time?

[Reprinted with permission from The Human Line by Ellen Bass]

Connect with Ellen on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/poetellenbass/) or visit her website: ellenbass.com.

]]>http://www.journeysendbooks.com/if-you-knew-is-a-poem-by-ellen-bass/feed/0A Tapestry of Dying Woven into the Fiber of Lifehttp://www.journeysendbooks.com/a-tapestry-of-dying-woven-into-the-fiber-of-life/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/a-tapestry-of-dying-woven-into-the-fiber-of-life/#respondSun, 03 Jun 2018 21:51:17 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=159A variety of experiences of death informed and influenced my life. They are reference points for my acceptance of death and expectation of the unexpected. As you read my short vignettes, perhaps you can reflect on your own reference points, how they have influenced your life, and your acceptance of its end.

***

One day Lizzie, our female cocker spaniel, was alive; the next she was dead. How did I know? I could hear Dizzy, our male spaniel, as he announced it repeatedly from the backyard in sharp staccato barks. Looking through the window, I saw her still form on the grass and thought, How is she sleeping through all that barking?

Soon, we all spilled out onto the lawn to investigate, my older brother dashing ahead to arrive first at her stiffening body. “She’s dead,” he pronounced.

I had little experience with dying and asked lots of questions about what could have happened and why. At the age of six, I pestered my parents with many queries, and they answered me patiently to the best of their ability. There were no advanced warning signs, no obvious cause, and lots of lingering unknowns.

***

One day the tortoise wandered into our yard with a cracked shell, the apparent victim of a hit-and-run accident on our residential street. I named him Charlie, took him protectively under my wing, and kept him in the fenced backyard, away from further auto mishaps. I enjoyed watching his head dart in and out of his shell as he accepted some morsels of grass I held out to him.

Charlie died soon after his arrival, with the official cause being “internal death by maggot consumption,” so my brother proclaimed. Through more questioning, I learned about the life cycle of the fly and concluded this would not be my preferred way to die.

***

In my hometown, a small plane crash killed everyone onboard, including all members of a local doctor’s family, except for one. This multiple-death scenario made a lasting impression on me. So many attended the funeral they overflowed the church. I was considered too young to attend that event, but I understood that so many turned out to mourn together this tragic loss.

There was whispered talk about this accident for weeks after it occurred. I heard that the deceased doctor’s partner in practice was called upon to pronounce the deaths at the scene and that doing so affected him greatly. I thought about this the next time he looked after me in his office. I wanted to ask about the experience to satisfy my curiosity, but I knew this was not a topic I was welcome to discuss.

People spoke in hushed tones and not directly to the people most closely involved in a death. This was my early youthful observation. I did the polite thing and kept my many questions to myself. And wondered.

***

When I was in grade eight, a classmate committed suicide. She was a very popular girl with a good-looking boyfriend. She was from a well-to-do family and had nice clothes to match her very pretty looks. She had lots of friends, and seemingly she was at the center of the “in crowd.”

We, her young peers, were dismayed by her suicide. I believe we all assumed what I had up until the death: her life must be almost perfect. Obviously, I was wrong. Appearances can deceive, I told myself. And I wept with the rest of my bewildered classmates. We were sad for her, for her family, and for ourselves.

Teachers and school counselors watched us all with a wary eye. I overheard their discussions. Was it better or worse to address this topic of suicide head-on? How much should they do or not do about it in the school setting? They agreed to tell us point-blank: “If you, or anyone you know of, are having suicidal thoughts, please report them immediately to an adult: a teacher, administrator, or counselor. There is always a way to find help for such thoughts.”

Quickly, the topic passed from our conscious school radar. But it became a milestone for my class. There was a before and an after the suicide. We knew much too intimately that it could happen. It did happen! And it left a gash that bleeds to this very day when we gather to remember our more youthful times.

***

While still a young teen, I learned the shocking news of the alcohol poisoning of a teenaged neighbor boy. Up until then, I knew very little about drinking, as my parents were “teetotalers,” and this was the first I’d ever heard of someone dying from consuming too much alcohol at once. It made an impression on me.

Shortly thereafter, a classmate died in an automobile accident, attributed to the drunk driving of her boyfriend. I was surprised to learn she had a boyfriend. This girl was not well accepted by many, as she was from a less affluent background than most of our peers, often coming to school in outdated, poorly matched, or tattered clothing, with her hair unwashed, etc. Yes, I had judged her; and after her death, I became intensely aware of how superficial had been my relationship with her. I promised myself not to judge so harshly based on someone’s appearance and circumstances ever again. I wrote a poem to her asking for her forgiveness.

***

While I attended a liberal arts college in the Midwestern United States, a young woman who also attended the school committed suicide.

Not long after this event, an intervention team took away one of my several housemates because he had shown signs of being near a breaking point: stressed out from the pressure of school work, not sleeping, and possibly suicidal. He never came back to our school, and I wondered about him. I wished him well and was thankful the adults in his life saw the wisdom in taking action when they did.

***

When my college boyfriend’s uncle died, his parents opted not to tell him until it was too late for him to attend the funeral service. At the time, his folks thought it would be too much of a distraction from his college studies to have to make arrangements to fly in for the event.

My boyfriend felt differently about it. This uncle was his closest relative outside of the immediate family, and he would have attended gladly. Instead, he ended up feeling “left out” and dismayed at the way in which he was robbed of making that choice himself. He felt as though they had taken away an adult responsibility that he wanted to exercise.

Observing this family issue, I saw the wisdom in letting others, children of all ages, be involved in the knowledge of family deaths and celebrations of life. Open discussion and inclusion in such events in my own family allowed me to more readily accept death as a natural part of life.

***

Carolyn died at fifty-three, the picture of health and wholesome habits. She was my children’s favorite babysitter, an occasional role she enjoyed in addition to her full-time secretarial position. She was a joy for each of my family whenever she was with us: knowledgably talking sports with my husband, relating to my motherhood-while-teaching lifestyle with good humor and compassionate understanding, and looking after my five-year-old daughter and her baby sister so playfully and well that we parents jokingly remarked on our daughters “being better off in her care than they were in ours.”

Her unexpected death, and unfairly shortened life, due to unknown natural causes left all who knew and loved Carolyn feeling bewildered. A great hole had been torn in the fabric of our lives. I did my best to explain to my little daughter, “Sometimes these things happen, and we will always love Carolyn and treasure the times we had with her.” I miss her to this day.

***

The concept of “being-with” the dying, Virginia Seno, PhD’s apt terminology for an ability to be peacefully present without expectations at the end of life, was a perfectly timed arrival in my life. In the spring of 2012, Virginia was one of my editing clients. I enjoyed the content she created for her Esse Institute, established to further and train end-of-life communication skills for the many and varied people who need it the most (everyone can benefit).

I didn’t know when I began to work with Dr. Seno that my father would be dying in the weeks and months ahead. As he grew increasingly close to death, I grew more knowledgeable about and comfortable with the dying process. I felt the synchronicity of the universe at work in my life, and I am grateful to this day for that timing.

Dr. Seno’s work inspired my own, and I’m certain that my experience with her material is one of the biggest influences on my writing and editing path, leading me here, to this chapter and this book.

***

While all of the above scenarios happened to me before I co-published (with Victoria Brewster) Journey’s End: Death, Dying, and the End of Life; this most recent event is fresh and new and quite raw in my experience roster.

My husband died a mere twelve weeks ago. There is no easy way to become a widow or to henceforth own that status; it’s hard to do, hard to share with others, and hard to believe much of the time. I’ve begun a new journey, one of life after death.

So much of me died with my husband: our playful intimacy, our easy rapport, our culinary exploration*, our movie watching, our shared dreams, our discussions of wide-ranging opinions and our hour-by-hour experience of living love. Yes, those things are now part of my past, and a new journey has begun. And I plan to take him with me on the long road ahead. That companionship will not be a burden; quite the contrary! He lifts me and encourages me with every step forward. I’m so very fortunate to have found such a loving bond that even transcends death.

I accept the inevitable: the deeper I love, the deeper will I grieve. So it shall be.

I promised you I’d write about you, about us. This is harder to do than I thought it might be. A promise is a promise.

We had twelve amazing years together. For these I give thanks every day. The last year was a rough one. From your diagnosis of pancreatic cancer till your death we had a mere seven months. Seven mindful months. Seven months to say goodbye. Seven months is not enough.

I believe you are now at peace. Your struggle to drink when you couldn’t bear swallowing, to eat when your favorite foods were anything but appetizing, to endure the indignities that came with not being able to walk nor even to stand on your own legs, to accept there were no more therapies available to potentially give you more life; all of these are now behind you. You gave it your best. We all did, all your supportive loved ones and your healthcare team.

I wish I could tell you now what a privilege it was to care for you through thick and thin, to be close by when you needed whatever you needed. You apologized many times for being in the state you were in, for causing us all so much trouble. That was what you needed to say. I accepted it. I also know that all the trouble, as you called it, was well worth it. Caretaking was my love poured out for you, my love expressed in the deeds of daily life. So many other ways we could no longer share.

For most of those nine months we could walk together, you with a cane in one hand and your other hand on my shoulder to steady you. And then walking was no more.

For a long time I prepared foods whose taste and texture you could still enjoy: jello, pureed soups, jello, French toast, jello, matzo balls, jello, mashed potatoes, and more jello. Eventually even jello was no longer a pleasure. I was amazed how long you were able to barely sip anything of nutritional value and still hang in there.

For most of your journey through cancer your greatest pleasure was the time you shared with our grandchildren. Whether in person, on the phone or on Skype, your joy at having them near was clearly expressed. You became their pen pal, sending letters through the mail. They sent you their own letters and hand-drawn pictures, and you papered your visible spaces with these precious gems. You ached for the moments you would not be together in their future. It broke my heart when at last the time came when you chose not to be with them, because doing so was too emotionally painful for you. You didn’t want their last memory of you to be one of your weeping at the thought of imminently parting.

It’s 4AM. Some hours of some days are easier than others. I miss your presence, though you are with me day and night, in every precious memory. Holding you close in my heart, I am learning to accept what is: One month ago you died.

~Julie Saeger Nierenberg Levitt, April 5, 2018

]]>http://www.journeysendbooks.com/one-month-ago-you-died/feed/28Violent, Unresolved Death and Its Effects on Those Who Wonderhttp://www.journeysendbooks.com/violent-unresolved-death-and-its-effects-on-those-who-wonder/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/violent-unresolved-death-and-its-effects-on-those-who-wonder/#respondThu, 22 Feb 2018 01:26:42 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=148In my last year of high school, I had a pair of older friends who married fairly young. When they would go out together, they sometimes asked me to come along to be a companion to a visiting out-of-town friend whose name was Brent. Our double dates, if you want to call them that, were always platonic because Brent was destined to become my friends’ brother-in-law. He was engaged to the younger sister of the female, and his fiancée lived in a different town.

Brent liked to talk and tell stories, to which I liked to listen. When he was visiting my friends, the four of us went to movies together, ate pizza, and laughed at Saturday Night Live and other comedy shows that came on after SNL concluded. Looking back, I can say that Brent was on the path to alcoholism. He may have been a very functional one, but he was a constant drinker, nonetheless. I never saw him behave as though inebriated; nonetheless, whatever time of day, I always saw him with a beer in his hand.

One day, while en route from his own small hometown to that of his fiancée, about two hours away, Brent was arrested for “driving under the influence” and held overnight in a jail cell. This detention occurred in a third small town, one with a reputation for having some “nasty” sheriff’s deputies. I learned these details via a phone call received while I was in midsemester of a study abroad program, many miles from my hometown.

“Brent is dead” were the words I heard from my friend who called to share this sad news. “He was arrested for DUI and held in jail. The next morning, they found him hanging in the cell from his belt. Dead.”

Still in disbelief, I began to ask questions. “Was he depressed?”

“No, he was going to get married soon and was happily making those plans,” my friend assured me.

“Is there any way someone else could have done it to him?”

“That’s what everyone is wondering. And his parents have hired an investigator since the state hasn’t really stepped in to do their own. They’re trying to find out why he even had his belt with him in the cell, if he was locked up. The jailers should have taken it away from him, or so we all think. Isn’t that a safety policy?”

Brent was his parents’ only child, and they poured money into a legal investigation of their son’s death; a young man was happy one day and dead and gone the next. There was no resolution, no explanation, other than apparent suicide. Brent had every reason to live. Being arrested would not have been the “end of the world” to his fiancée, parents, friends, or anyone who knew him; being dead sure was.

Years later, this same small-town sheriff’s department was indicted, from the top person down to the several subordinate deputies, for their participation in a variety of crimes involving bribery and extortion, wrongful imprisonment, and even some heinous torture of those detained in their little jail.

Still, nothing specific in respect to Brent’s death was ever revealed. If anyone knew more, they weren’t saying.

***

Charles was one year older than I and the brother of my friend Kelly, so a big brother kind of friend, for the most part. He was often present when Kelly and I had plans of one sort or another, such as sleepovers, swimming in the neighborhood pool, and, of course, shared family meals.

Eventually, Charles and I also shared some of our own memories. On the week of my fourteenth birthday, he took me on one of my first dates, shyly presenting me with a pair of earrings, gift-wrapped and trimmed with a bow. I was sure these were his mom’s idea, but I was proud to wear them and think of them as his sweet gift to me. Since Charles was too young to drive at age fifteen, his mom, like a “second mom” to me, drove us to our destination while trying her best to be invisible. He took me on my first motorcycle ride, so proud of his wheels. We had several common friends, so although we didn’t continue dating, we did “hang out” together from time to time.

While visiting my hometown on a break from my university studies in another state far, far away, I met Charles at a gathering of many “old” high school friends. He asked how my school life was “so far from home,” listened to me tell of my dreams and goals, and then made a prediction. “You’ll be back. You may not even finish college, but either way, you’ll come back. You’ll end up right here, back home, like everybody else.” His words stiffened my resolve to continue my studies and not to “be back home” unless I wanted to be. And I had other ideas for my life.

Charles was a significant boy in my teen years, someone I cared for very much, and I regret the last conversation we had didn’t go as I might have wished. He died while still in his twenties, leaving behind a wife and two children, family and friends who dearly loved him, and a lot of questions.

The official cause of death was a drug overdose. No one called it suicide; he was not suicidal. Reportedly, there was way too much drug in his system at one time, much more than any user would intentionally inject for a recreational high, an amount that led to suspicions. Was he murdered?

Rumors were flying. Some pointed their fingers at another young man we all knew, one who now had a reputation as a drug dealer who could “take care” of anyone who crossed him . . . in his own way. I couldn’t imagine either of these “boys”—now men—mixed up with hard drugs in the ways I was hearing. I was naive. I was absent from that local scene, living elsewhere since high school. I had missed a lot of years and many stories involving the people I knew while growing up, and many more that I didn’t know.

The crowd at Charles’s funeral was too big for the little rural church to contain, but there was plenty of room for all of us outdoors at his graveside. The people in attendance covered the rolling hills of the small cemetery. It was a strange reunion, the first time I’d seen many of these old friends since high school, including Charles’s family. And it broke my heart to see his young wife and children, his mom and sisters, bereaved, angry, and bewildered.

Charles’s case was never solved. Was it homicide, an intentional overdose given to him by his dealer? Was it an accidental overdose? There was never any true resolution or the measure of closure that might conceivably come with that. No one stepped forward to confess to a crime in this matter. And no one who might have known pointed a finger with surety and evidence to back up their claims. People continued to talk.

I did come back home to pay my respects to his widow, his sister, and his mom, and to see Charles laid to rest.

***

Geoff was the little boy who lived across the street. He was my brother’s best friend from the time we were young children. He would bring his toy army men and his Cap’n Crunch cereal when he came to visit in our home. The two boys played basketball on the same teams throughout their teen years, creating many memories together, and Geoff was the best man at my brother’s wedding.

He was a “best man” in every sense of the word. His parents were so proud of the man he became, a counselor to younger adults who were recently off drugs or doing their best to become ex-drug users. He had a happy attitude and could make people laugh just by being himself, a naturally silly person in such an enjoyable way.

One day, Geoff’s lifeless body was found in a remote and wooded area many miles from where he lived. There were no signs of struggle other than a bruised forehead, no obvious cause of death, no tire tracks or other visible signs of transport, no witnesses, no clues on or near the body; and due to mishandling of collected physical evidence in the days immediately following his death, no toxicology studies could be performed. Geoff’s mysterious cause of death was never solved.

He was the only child of divorced parents; they came together to support each other and do their best, within available system parameters, to seek answers to this tragic mystery. How could Geoff be alive and well one day and gone the next without any explanation?

His friends, including my brother, were stunned. They did their own “investigation” through their own “channels.” There were rumors and conjectures but no clear answers, no confessions, no heard-it-through-the-grapevine reports that could be conveyed to, and further investigated by, the proper authorities.

What a travesty of justice! All agreed. But no one had the answers. Every question led to more questions but not to any tangible clues. Who could have wanted Geoff dead? How could it have happened? How could no one have seen him or someone with him in the hours leading up to his disappearance? How did someone transport him from the location where he died to the place where he was found? How many would it take to do that?

There was no end to the questions, the conjectures, the reasoning, and the frustration that everyone in authority seemed to give up on finding out so soon. Did the world not owe it to Geoff to find out who killed him, how they did it, and why?

Questions haunted his bereaved loved ones, his dear friends, and colleagues. Some struggle to this day with the reality of his loss and the lack of acceptable answers to the abundance of questions. Someone knew something and wasn’t telling. Would this knowledge go with them to their own graves?

He was loveable and silly, joyous, and athletic in life; violent, tragic, and without resolution in death. This dear, sweet man, who lived to help others, was no longer alive and doing what he loved: supporting others’ growth and health and safety. Geoff was gone.

[Written by Julie Saeger Nierenberg, excerpted from Journey’s End: Death, Dying, and the End of Life]

]]>http://www.journeysendbooks.com/violent-unresolved-death-and-its-effects-on-those-who-wonder/feed/0Did Your Dada Melt Like the Snowman?http://www.journeysendbooks.com/did-your-dada-melt-like-the-snowman/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/did-your-dada-melt-like-the-snowman/#respondSat, 30 Dec 2017 20:15:25 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=143The following is an excerpt from our book.

When Grandma died at the age of seventy-seven, I was thirteen. Grandma had breast cancer, discovered after it metastasized into her back, and the pain there was unbearable. Her stoicism kept her from complaining for a long time.

In the late 1960s there was very little that could be done to slow the progression of such a significant spread of the disease. Perhaps now would be no different. I do not recall all the things that were tried to halt the spread of disease and ease her end of life, but my impression was they didn’t do much that helped and may have increased her discomfort at times. She was in and out of hospital treatment.

At one point, she was at home in a bedridden state while I visited there, half a continent from my own home, and we talked openly about her condition. She held my hand and looked me in the eye and smiled as she talked. She seemed brave. Resigned. Accepting. Sad.

After she died, we accompanied my parents and my grandfather at her memorial service, conducted in the manner of Friends (Quakers). Attendees stood to share from their hearts about their beloved F/friend. I wept openly, especially sad for my father who had no siblings with whom he could share the loss of his mom. My grandfather would now be alone in his home, his only son and grandkids living far, far away.

Some of the Quakers’ shared messages spoke to my condition, and I felt okay with weeping, a first for me to do so publicly. I knew in my heart Grandma was better off dead than continuing to suffer so much. It helped me to accept her death, knowing that her recent life had been so painful. Listening to everyone’s stories, I wished I had gotten to know her better than I did. She was so well loved.

Every day I “click to fund mammograms” on a website that matches every click with a sponsored donation. This is my way of remembering my grandmother and taking some action to help others stay healthy. I keep her memory close to my heart.

My maternal grandfather, Dada, died at the age of eighty-nine, an event that occurred while I attended college in a town very near where he and my grandmother Mamaw lived. I felt very fortunate to be able to support Mamaw, to be close to her while others in the family travelled to attend the funeral and be with her in mourning. While the timing of his death was not expected, the likelihood of death at any time was something we’d accepted long before because of his medical condition. He’d had close brushes with death many times in the past.

Two of my grandparents lived into their midnineties, and I feel so very fortunate to get to know them so well in my own adulthood.

Mamaw lived on her own after Dada died, about seven years in all, performing all her own household tasks and personal upkeep until she broke her hip while sweeping off her icy front porch. Being bedridden after the fall led to her pneumonia and eventual death within a few weeks. She had broken her hip, one or the other, several times in her elderhood; but this time she didn’t rally enough to survive the ordeal. When I visited her shortly before her death, she seemed accepting, ready, and at peace with life’s end.

Granddaddy, who’d been living as a widower for nearly twenty years, was “ripe and ready to go” when he died at the age of ninety-six. He was lucid and wondered daily why he was “still here” and what purpose could be served by his remaining alive. I gained compassion for this stage of the dying experience when a body is not as ready as its heart and mind.[1]

Granddaddy wanted to talk about it, and together we cried a bit. He wiped my tears and I wiped his, a moment of connection I will always treasure. He was ready to join his beloved, my grandma, who died so many years before.

So finally, on Christmas Day, he got his wish. His death on that day always seemed an added bonus to the Spirit-of-Christmas experience. I remember it as the greatest gift for him to receive the blessing of passing on that special day.

Many years after all my grandparents had died, my two children and I were discussing them while looking at old photographs. One photo of my grandfather Dada, while a young man, reminded me of my nephew; and my daughters saw the resemblance too.

I responded, “No, he was dead before either of you were born.” They remained quiet, and I continued, “He lived a long and happy life, and though I miss him, I’m not sad that he died. It was his time. His body was very weak and ready to be finished with life.” After another long and quiet pause, I added, “If you ever have any questions about your ancestors, your great-grandparents or others in the family, please ask and I’ll do my best to answer.”

Kerry scooted along to play, seemingly satisfied; but her little sister, Valerie, age two or three at most, stayed behind. She looked into my eyes, reached across the table where we sat to pat my arm gently, as she said, “It’s okay, Mama. Did your Dada melt like the snowman?” I did my best to answer her in terms she might understand, and sometimes that was a challenge. She knew that when a snowman melted, he was no more, and that was our reference point.

And so began a series of questions and answers interspersed over the years to come when Valerie would chat with me about death and dying. She wanted me to promise not to die—ever. I told her I couldn’t do that, but I promised to be as healthy as I could be for the rest of my life so I could live a good long life and we could be together as long as possible. That answer seemingly satisfied her.

Throughout my life, I regard these conversations as a sacred honor, something I can pass along to my children. Just as my own youthful experiences of death informed and influenced my life, they also influence the way I share death with my children and grandchildren. These open conversations help us to create a legacy of life that includes its endpoint on this earthly plane.

When we accept death and grief, and expect the unexpected, we help our young family members to do the same.

[1] Barbara Karnes, RN, described this stage of life in her article, “I Just Want to Die.” February 3, 2014. https://www.bkbooks.com/blog/i-just-want-die

]]>http://www.journeysendbooks.com/did-your-dada-melt-like-the-snowman/feed/0An Overview of Journey’s End: Death, Dying, and the End of Lifehttp://www.journeysendbooks.com/an-overview-of-journeys-end-death-dying-and-the-end-of-life/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/an-overview-of-journeys-end-death-dying-and-the-end-of-life/#respondSat, 09 Dec 2017 19:26:45 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=136In Journey’s End: Death, Dying, and the End of Life, it is our privilege to compile a great variety of content and resources. We have several goals for their use:

To serve as educational tools in the training of professionals, students and volunteers

To help and support families and friends as they prepare for and live through times of dying, death and bereavement

To add to the cultural conversation and comfort level with the topic of death and dying

Chapter content in our book includes the following:

Defining and Describing Death, Dying, and End of Life

Palliative and Hospice Care

A Good Death

Unique Perspectives on Death: Personal Stories by Professionals and Lay People

The Dying Individual’s Perspective

Death of a Spouse or Life Partner

When the Whole Is Split in Half by Elaine Mansfield

Finding A Way Through by Evelyne Banks

I’ll Be Yours if You’ll Be Mine by Cheryl Jones

Through Our Endings We Find New Beginnings by Jean Bota

Death of a Parent

Memories of My Father by Jordan Grumet, MD

Being-with My Dying Dad by Julie Saeger Nierenberg

My Father Loved Words! by Linda Darrah Reynolds

Multiple Losses by Jan Larsen-Fendt

A Teen’s Perspective on the Death of a Parent by Carol Brannan Marimpietri

Mom’s Story by Sue Rumack

Death of a Grandparent or Great-Grandparent

My Grandmother by Victoria Brewster

“Did Your Dada Melt Like the Snowman?” by Julie Saeger Nierenberg

Death of a Sibling

The Deaths of My Three Siblings: Loss Without Answers and No Time To Heal by an Anonymous Contributor

Death of a Child

We Would Have Died for You: The Journey of Bereaved Parents by Maria Kubitz

An Unspeakable Loss by John Brooks

Perspectives on Death and Dying by Elizabeth Gillman

Davey’s Story by Victoria Hargis

Death of a Grandchild

Silently Born by Pamela Christie

Death of an Infant or Unborn Child

Miscarriages, Infertility, and Stillbirth by Victoria Brewster

Forever Parents: Reducing a Lifetime of Regrets, Sadness, and Emptiness After Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Other Infant Deaths by Sherokee Ilse

When Part of Us Dies Through Death by Choice by Keith Branson

A Child’s Perspective on Death

Death of a Friend

A Death Can Change a Life by Patty Burgess

A Broken Kaleidoscope by Mark Darrah

Death of a Friend in Childhood by Victoria Brewster

Death and the Blended Family

Josh and Ginger: Precious Days from Diagnosis Till Death by Virginia L. Seno

A Tapestry of Dying Woven Into the Fiber of Life by Julie Saeger Nierenberg

Violent Death and Lack of Knowledge or Resolution

Violent, Unresolved Death and Its Effects on Those Who Wonder by Julie Saeger Nierenberg

Jerry Died Two Years Ago and I Just Found Out Today by Julie Saeger Nierenberg

Living, Healing, and Transforming with Seamus by Robert S. Ball, MSN, RN

End-of-Life Communication

What It Takes to Have Successful End-of-Life Conversations by Virginia L. Seno

Three Tools to Start End-of-Life Conversations by Virginia L. Seno

Right Choice for You: A Menu of Questions for Your Critical Care Choices by Virginia L. Seno

Too Busy to Die by James C. Salwitz, MD

Meaning Beyond Words by Claire Willis

Companionship in Song for those at the Threshold of Living and Dying

End-of-Life Educational Training

Education for Healthcare Professionals and Students

End of Life Care Is a Core Part of Medicine by James C. Salwitz, MD

Hope by Andrew Thurston, MD

A Delicious Mystery: An Unknowable Passage Makes for Compelling Education by Patty Burgess

Planning and Preparedness

Dealing Proactively with Issues around Death and Dying

Advance Care Planning, Mandates, Powers of Attorney

The LastingMatters Organizer: Where Loved Ones Find What Matters Most by Barbara Bates Sedoric

The Cost of Caring by Blair Botsford

On the Road to Legal Wellness: Planning Your Power of Attorney for Care by Blair Botsford

End-of-Life Checklists from Plan While You Still Can by Donald M. Burrows

Changing Our Cultural Understanding of Death and Dying

It’s OK TO DIE When You Are Prepared: Monica Williams-Murphy, MD, and Kristian Murphy, Advocating for End-of-Life Preparedness

When End-of-Life Care Is Ongoing: Acknowledge, Assess, and Assist Families to Transform from the Embedded Grief by Eleanor Silverberg

Natural Death

Allow Natural Death: A Different Model of Care for Frail Elders and Those Who Love Them by Robin Gordon Taft

Assisted Suicide

Brittany Maynard’s Legacy by Steve Byrne

Brittany Maynard’s Peace Be With Us by Julie Saeger Nierenberg

Death with Dignity, Physician-Assisted Suicide, and Euthanasia

Canada and Assisted Dying by Victoria Brewster

When Death Happens: The Role of the Funeral Home, Post-Death Support Services, and Alternative Burial Options

Funeral Professional

The Exhaustion of Death by Jeff Harbeson

Death Midwife

Death Midwifery and Home Funerals by Cassandra Yonder

Practical Support After a Death

After a Loss by Heather Taylor

Alternative Burial and Funeral Options

Grief and Bereavement, Support During and After Death

Effects of Grief on Those Who Remain

Disenfranchised Grief

My Griefs: Passing On by Vicki M. Taylor

Healing Rituals and Other Forms of Bereavement Support

Death Cafés and Other Venues for Talking About Death

Death Café: The Importance of Talking About Death by Jean Bota

Beyond Death Cafés: Discussing Death, the Most Important Conversation You Need to Have by Sheryl Beller-Kenner, EdD

Near Death Experiences

The NDE and Other Premonitions of Eternity by Lee Witting

Discussion Questions: Food for Further Thought

]]>http://www.journeysendbooks.com/an-overview-of-journeys-end-death-dying-and-the-end-of-life/feed/0Radio Interview on Death Matters 100.5-Vancouverhttp://www.journeysendbooks.com/radio-interview-on-death-matters-100-5-vancouver/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/radio-interview-on-death-matters-100-5-vancouver/#respondFri, 10 Nov 2017 13:51:57 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=130Julie and I were interviewed by the Death Matters show that broadcasts every Wednesday at Noon PST in Vancouver, BC, Canada on November 8, 2017. The station is 100.5 FM.

Thank you so much for allowing us to be guests!

Death, dying, end of life, palliative care, hospice…words most of the population does not want to hear! Death frightens people, but why? We are all going to die, but hopefully we have many more years left. Whether that is the case for everyone reading this or not, this needs to change. Death needs to become more open again! Individuals need to talk about it, plan for it, think about what they want at the end. Do you want a traditional funeral and burial? Do you want a green burial? Do you want a conservational burial? Have you written your advance care directive? Do you have a will? Do you want a celebration of life ceremony before you die?

Julie and I discuss our respective work, our book Journey’s End: Death, Dying, and End of Life-Xlibris; July 2017, our second book which we are hard at work on and aiming for a Fall 2018 publication, and share views about why this topic is so important to us.

*http://www.coopradio.org/content/death-matters-live-18

]]>http://www.journeysendbooks.com/radio-interview-on-death-matters-100-5-vancouver/feed/0Important End of Life Discussions between Patient and Doctor Needed…http://www.journeysendbooks.com/important-end-of-life-discussions-between-patient-and-doctor-needed/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/important-end-of-life-discussions-between-patient-and-doctor-needed/#respondSun, 15 Oct 2017 12:06:20 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=113This is a very good article that discusses the importance of physicians having the much needed discussion about end of life with their patients.

“There is no ‘right’ answer for how patients should respond to a terminal illness. It’s a deeply personal decision based on a complex array of spiritual, social, financial and emotional needs.”

Patients who are terminal can only make these tough choices if their doctor (s) are trained and able to share bad news. Yet many doctors receive zero training on how to have these hard conversations and less than a third of primary care physicians receive instruction in end-of-life treatment.

Fortunately, some medical schools have noticed this training gap and are evolving their curricula to fill it. Stanford’s medical school orientation now includes a discussion of the ethics of death. George Washington University Medical School offers a full course about dying.

Johns Hopkins goes a step further and actually assigns students to write instructions for their own end-of-life care, an exercise that forces them to confront the difficult decisions terminal patients face.

That to me is interesting as what better way to have a discussion about a taboo or fearful topic is to think about and write out what you would do or choose.

In my head I have had this conversation with myself many times and I think I know what I would choose if I was ever in that situation of being diagnosed with a terminal illness. Not long ago a friend and I were talking about a person who was diagnosed with breast cancer. We each had different reactions to this news and answers as to what we would do regarding treatment.

For me, depending on if it was localized (1 spot) or not; meaning it had spread-I would seek the least invasive treatment. Chemo to me is a last choice and only if it has a good chance of making a difference. From what I have been exposed to both personally and professionally-chemo has a negative effect on the person and causes other health issues along with destroying all the good things about you physically. It is poison!

I would seek a healthy diet, exercise, alternative therapies to assist with symptoms and pain, and would want to spend as much quality time as possible with my family and friends vs. in a hospital receiving chemo and being sick daily afterwards. Where is the quality of life in that? But this is me and my choice. Others may and have chosen differently. That is what makes us unique. This is why the medical team from the physician to the nurse to the social worker and other medical personnel need to be trained to have discussions about the disease, illness, treatment options and be prepared to talk honestly. Do not sugar coat the diagnosis, but provide me with all the options and possible side effects or reactions to each treatment choice.

And honestly, unless we are going through this ourselves-we can listen, discuss all the options, be empathic and supportive, but ultimately it should be the patient who makes the decision regarding treatment or not; and medical staff and personnel need to accept this.

-Victoria Brewster

]]>http://www.journeysendbooks.com/important-end-of-life-discussions-between-patient-and-doctor-needed/feed/0The Purpose Behind the Bookhttp://www.journeysendbooks.com/the-purpose-behind-the-book/
http://www.journeysendbooks.com/the-purpose-behind-the-book/#commentsSat, 14 Oct 2017 16:36:53 +0000http://www.journeysendbooks.com/?p=117Our goal is to educate, provide information, share articles and resources, and to get discussions flowing. Death is a part of the life cycle. To be born, we will die one day. This is a fact.

Our book encompasses so much. Besides providing resource material, references, and quotes, we have professionals and individuals who contributed chapters about their own client’s/patient’s deaths along with their own family’s and friend’s deaths. We cover the death of spouses and life partners, parents, children, grandchildren, grandparents, siblings, infant death, multiple deaths, patient and client death, pet death, friend death, miscarriages, abortion, chronic illness and disease, natural aging, and suicide. We have a chapter that focuses on a very hot topic for some, but it is still an important topic–Assisted Dying/Euthanasia. At the time our manuscript was submitted for publication, we listed the countries, states, and provinces that had laws in place about and for assisted dying and euthanasia.

Who contributed to this book?

Nurses

Social Workers

Physicians

A Lawyer

A Funeral Home Director

A Rabbi

A Siam Reiki Master Teacher

A Former Police Officer

A Paramedic

A Military Veteran

Professionals that provide training in the areas of death and dying

Professionals and lay-people that run grief and bereavement groups

End-of-Life communication resources

End-of-Life training resources

Discussions about planning and preparedness

Natural Death

Death Midwifery or Death Doulas and their roles

Alternative Burial and Funeral Options are discussed

Grief & Healing Rituals

Death Cafés

Near Death Experiences

and more…

Part of what we will do in our blog posts is to share articles and important information that relate to death, dying, and end of life. Keep an eye out and share this book with friends, family, and professionals because death affects everyone at some point.